A pause.
“Well... yes.”
I almost admired the confidence.
Almost.
“I want you to stop overreacting and come home.”
"This is important!" Ethan continued. "What will he think if he sees the house looking like this? And you can't honestly expect ME to cook for them."
“Sounds stressful,” I said. “You should call your mother.”
Then I hung up.
Sylvia called twenty minutes later.
"You can't honestly expect ME to cook for them."
I answered because, apparently, I hadn't reached my daily limit of nonsense.
"How dare you do this to him?" she snapped. "You will go home right now and fix that house for Ethan's dinner."
"No."
Sylvia exhaled sharply.
"You know what? Fine. We don't need you. I'll fix the house. I'll cook."
I was about to hang up when she added, “We'll just tell them you're visiting family. Nobody needs to know what kind of wife you're being.”
